


Ignis Fatuus

by ghostlerhost



Series: Occidendum (Who Killed Markiplier short stories) [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Amnesia, Post-AHWM, Post-Canon, Soul Bond, Spoilers, eyore naime is the district attorney incarnate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlerhost/pseuds/ghostlerhost
Summary: Amber champagne music and poker chips haunted his slumber, dragging him to a time long before him and ringing out with forgotten yet familiar laughter. Memories that never were his to begin with.
Series: Occidendum (Who Killed Markiplier short stories) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644784
Kudos: 4





	Ignis Fatuus

**Author's Note:**

> this idea has been dinging in my brainhole for a while so its prime time to barf this shit out into google docs and post it on ao3 send tweet
> 
> also ppl,,, please,, comment,,,,,,, also if ppl want to rp,, message me???

_“Now, this evening, it’s not about the poker. It’s not all about me. It’s about you. So drink up and be merry! Life is for the living! And who knows-”_

_“-I could be dead tomorrow!”_

Eyore bristled awake. A feverish dream and blissful nightmare breaking into consciousness and drenching his pillow in cold sweat, he swallowed back a mute scream. Amber champagne music and poker chips haunted his slumber, dragging him to a time long before him and ringing out with forgotten yet familiar laughter. Eyore was uneased. He pushed himself off his bed, felt the cribled concrete floor beneath his feet through the pitiful mat by his bed and shivered at the chill of his pitiful, small room. 

It was the tenth consecutive night he had that dream. And he grew anxious of its wicked remembrance. It was as if something was stolen from him, vindictive and cruel, as if behind the golden bubbles and idle, drunken chatter, a devil had an ulterior plan that smelled of smoking gunpowder. 

October 10, 1943. Famed Actor, Markus Iplier, 27, was found dead in his manor morning after party. 

October 31, 2019. Eyore finally questioned why he stole away with the accursed artifact the night before. A box of an enigma; he stowed it away in a dark, forgotten corner of his already tiny room and tried to forget the quiet, maddening hum that sprung forth memories that never were his to begin with.

They belonged to a district attorney, not a thief. A friend of a mayor; a prime suspect, a detective’s partner- a man intimately of the law- not one who weaseled and teased its authority, watching officers wave their authority like children with a blunt weapon. He pondered why they, the lawful good memories, pricked his mind, he who was neutrally evil.

Anxious, he picked at his dry lips, pulling away to a slight sting and small spring of crimson. He sucked his blood from the small spring and ground the pads of his feet into the ground. Eyore sighed. He couldn’t find the logic behind it all, each logical explanation made no sense; fantasies of second lives seemed to answer his questions but they were simply fantasies, and nothing more to him.

 _“What was the attorney’s name again?”_ he questioned his tired memory, _“Perhaps E. L. Naime- that’s my last name.”_

He bristled _“Maybe, it’s just a coincidence.”_ His mind flickered softly, finding solace in that possibility, _“Maybe, it’s just coincidence; they’re just dreams. Dreams are how your sleeping conscious makes sense of things and sleep is for the dreaming.”_ Eyore chuffed softly, padding over to the artifact. Taking it into his palms and turning it over in his hands, his train of thought continued, _“And life is for the living. Didn’t Iplier say something like that? What a stupid quote from a dead guy.”_


End file.
